


A Wrong I'Th' World

by henrywinter (bakkhant)



Category: Othello - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 02:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11198331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakkhant/pseuds/henrywinter
Summary: Emilia goes back to Venice.





	A Wrong I'Th' World

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVE MY EXAM ON OTHELLO TOMORROW WHAT AM I DOING
> 
> I JUST LOVE EMILIA A WHOLE LOT, BEST BEST GIRL
> 
> Written through a blinding headache, which is how I imagine Emilia feels all the time, actually.

The seas are as turbulent as they had been short weeks ago. Emilia, braced against the winds, hood drawn half-across her face, stands alone at the bow until they reach Venetian waters.

She pretends not to see Cassio draw near when they disembark, but watches him hover at the edges of propriety through the fine mesh of her veil. He's been hesitant around her ever since they set sail. In Cyprus, he could focus on filling the role of commander, keeper of the peace, Othello; on this ship, there are only subordinates and Emilia.

Cassio himself had insisted on accompanying her, out of some mixture of guilt and misplaced chivalry. True to form, he's been conscientious in seeing to her comfort: Iago is situated on another ship; the crew do not to whisper so loudly around her; Cassio talks to her, frequently, with perfect civility and concern, and looks as if he's dragging himself through every conversation.

He approaches her eventually, soldier and gentleman that he is.

"Mistress," is all he says, smile tight with his own grief. Once Emilia's returned his greeting with a nod, he all but hurries away, relief and exhaustion in the set of his shoulders.

Then she's free to make her own way home.

Nothing in Venice has changed, in her absence. The port bustles with noise and activity just as it always has; when, pressing through the crowds into the cool comfort of the quiet back streets, she shoulders into a passing merchant, the curses are as colourful as ever. Their time in Cyprus may as well have not passed at all, if not for the saltwater slowly drying from her gown, and the bursts of hysteria that rise inside her until she has to forcibly stifle them, handkerchief pressed hard against her mouth as she walks.

It takes her almost an hour to reach her house. When she does, she barely greets the servants before pushing past them to her bedroom.

She can't stay long, of course. The next day finds her up at dawn, readying herself for the inevitable influx of visitors once her arrival and the events at Cyprus become common news. At noon, the first senator makes his house call.

"Emilia!" his wife exclaims, rushing to her when she opens the door. Then she stops short, uncertainty crossing her features; Emilia lets her look her fill at the black gown, the veil draping down her shoulders.

"Dead?" she asks, in a tone of hushed sympathy. The senator's brows furrow, lips pressing together as he waits for her answer.

"Ay, to me," Emilia says, lifting her head a little higher. "Come in."

**Author's Note:**

> I feed on comments, kudos, and the souls of newborn babes :)


End file.
